


I've Missed You

by Johnlock_is_canon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sherlock, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, PTSD Sherlock, Past Torture, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock_is_canon/pseuds/Johnlock_is_canon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been dead for two years and John can't seem to move on with his life. He hasn't been working much, going out or talking to friends at all. But when he receives an urgent message from Lestrade, he decides he needs to go. He gets there and finds the place empty, no police force or crime scene in sight.  But is there still something, or more someone, waiting there for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

 

“Hey Sherlock, nice day isn’t it? Considering that it been two years since you’ve, since you’ve... left. I miss you everyday, some days it's harder than others, like today.” John says and clears his throat. “I got this for you,” he says laying down a flower. “Hm, you would probably be telling me right now what it means.” 

 

John takes a deep breath in, “I asked for one more miracle Sherlock, one more. Just don't, don’t be dead. Don’t be dead for me. I thought that it was all a trick, I knew that you couldn’t really be dead. You’re too smart to do something that stupid. I thought you enjoyed life, living with me and solving crimes and cases. Yeah you got bored, trust me I know you did, but every time a puzzle came around you threw yourself into it. You, Sherlock, saved me. You were crazy genius that knew my life story after seeing me for less than a second and using my mobile. I barely knew you and I shot a cabbie. I killed a cabbie to save you. But, he wasn’t a very good cabbie, was he.” John said, a smile lightly formed on his lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

 

“Sherlock, I miss you, why did you have to go? I need you, you made my life worth living again, and now, I don’t know anymore. Nothing is exciting or different, or you. You saved me, I was so alone and you were so lost,” John said sitting against the hard, black, shiney stone. He didn’t even remember that he sat down. It had become routine for the past 2 years, visiting him every day. No matter the weather or work. He came. He traced the engraved letters stating

 

S H E R L O C K  H O L M E S. 

 

“Sherlock, you mean the world to me.” John stifled a slight laugh through his tears. “I can practically hear your eyeroll. But you, you are my best friend. For god’s sake, you cured my limp within the first 24 hours of meeting you. You have been the greatest impact on my life. You are the most important person in my life, since the day we met to now. Sherlock, please, I’m going to ask again, just please, don’t, be, dead. Don’t be dead.” John slid lower down the stone and continued to cry quietly. 

 

He stayed there until it started to lightly drizzle. He opened his eyes and saw it was dark. ‘I must have been here for hours,’ he thought. John slowly stood up, eyes still red from crying. He patted the stone, “See you tomorrow Sherlock,” and started his walk home.

 

\----------

 

John stepped into the flat and surveyed the room, the same way he did every day. He looked over to where Sherlock had speared down letter on the mantle, the mark on the wall from the microwave incident, the couch where he must have spent most of his time in the flat. He realized he was dripping wet onto the floor and went off into the bathroom and grabbed towel to dry off. He walked out, and vigorously rubbed the towel atop of his head to dry his hair. He threw the towel onto the back of the kitchen chair, and his gaze rested on Sherlock’s chair, where his violin rested. He walked over to it and tentatively reached out towards it, hesitating for a moment, then picked it up. It was light, a lot lighter than he had imagined. John gently plucked one of the strings, and was reminded of all the midnight medleys Sherlock played as he lulled off to sleep. 

 

His phone buzzed with a text message and he nearly dropped the instrument. He gently put it down and walked over to his phone. It was from Lestrade. John hadn’t been very social after Sherlock’s jump. But he kept up with Greg and sometimes met with Molly in a coffee shop. 

 

**Come meet me at this address, it's an emergency.**

 

John didn't feel like going out. He hadn't taken any cases that Greg had offered him, or even gone out for a pint in months. But he felt that he owed Greg one for being such a shitty friend since Sherlock....

 

**I’ll be right over.**

 

John replied and grabbed his jacket and ran out the door. He hailed a cab as he got the address as he closed the door. He showed the driver the address, "If you can get me there in under 20 minutes I'll double the fare." 18 minutes later he was in front of a warehouse and didn’t see any police cars. He dismissed it and paid the cabbie generously. John ran inside and looked around.

 

“Greg! Where are you? You said it was an emergency!” John yelled into the empty space. He pulled out his mobile and called Greg. It rang for a moment until he picked up.

 

“John? Are you okay?” He asked

 

“Am I okay? You were the one to text me to come here in the first place. You said it was an emergency. Where are you?”

 

“John,” Lestrade said slowly, “I didn’t text you. John where are you? Tell me where you are, I’ll come right over.”

 

“No, no, I’m fine. Don’t make a fuss.”

 

“John! John tell me where you-” Greg said before John ended the call.

 

John pulled out his Sig and cautiously walked towards the hallway at the back of the building. There was a door at the very back, slightly ajar. He walked in, gun raised, and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. He scanned the room and saw a small heap on the floor. 

 

“Hello? Are you alright?” He asked quietly. No response. John moved forward slowly and lowered his gun. He reached his arm out and the person threw their head up from the fetal position and tried to scramble away into the corner. 

 

“Shh shhh, it's okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” John said and moved forward carefully.

 

“No, NO!,” the figure yelled, “Don’t hurt John, don’t hurt John, please, don’t hurt John.”

 

John stared at the person in surprise, “Leave him alone, keep me, leave John alone.” He continued.

 

“Sherlock?” John asked slowly, his eyes widening seeing his best friend again. Even in the dim lighting he could see how he was unhealthily skinny, malnutritioned, his hair was curly and longer and matted. His clothes hung loose and were torn at his shoulder and his stomach. His pants were full of holes and if he could stand up, they would fall off his bony hips. 

 

“Oh my god! Sherlock, you...you’re...you’re alive.” John stuttered. He moved closer to Sherlock, but stopped when Sherlock started to move away again.

 

“Let me go home to John, I miss him, I’m sorry, let me go home.” Sherlock stopped his ramblings for a moment then continued, “Don’t let me go home, if I go home, John gets hurt. No I won’t let you hurt John.” 

 

John felt his legs go weak. He felt dizzy, nausea was making its way up his throat. He tried to step forward, but his nerves got the best of him and he tripped, only just catching himself. But he didn’t get up, he didn’t trust his legs yet. He continued to move towards Sherlock, even in his extreme state of shock. He knew Sherlock needed him.

 

“Sherlock! Its me, its me, I’m John, John Watson. I’m here Sherlock.” John moved forward slowly and saw his blood soaked clothes, “You’re hurt Sherlock, please let me look at you, please. I won’t hurt you, I promise Sherlock. I promise.”

 

Sherlock eyed him warily, but slowly nodded. John made his way over until he was kneeling next to him. He lifted his arm and gently placed it on Sherlock’s forearm. He felt him stiffen beneath his hand, but left his hand there. John moved again around to the back of Sherlock, knowing from his posture that he was badly injured there. He was wearing a tee-shirt with its sleeves torn off, making it easy to see the terrible state of his shoulder. Sherlock needed immediate attention. Even though he was a doctor, and a bloody good one too, he didn’t carry a hospital on him at all times. He could still feel Sherlock’s unease radiating off him.

 

“Sherlock,” he said leaning down and whispering in his ear, “I’m here, it's going to be fine. You will be fine, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

 

John leaned away and continued to examine his back. He gently lifted up the back of his shirt only to see more scars and cuts covering his back. John couldn’t imagine what, or more who, had done this to him. Sherlock was strong, and had the strongest will and brainpower of anybody he knew. And to see him in this state deeply unnerved John. He looked closer at the scars, 

 

‘White ones: 2 years old, pink: this past year, this one is too jagged to be from a knife, whip maybe?’ He continued to analyze his back, making notes at what needed to be done. 

 

John moved around to face Sherlock, “I’m going to call your brother, Mycroft, alright? He’ll send one of his cars and we’ll get you out of here and all fixed up.”

 

John saw Sherlock’s eyes flicker with recognition at the mention of his brother’s name. He pulled out his mobile and called Mycroft. It rang twice before being picked up.

 

“John. Why have you called?”  Of course, getting straight to the point. Well John could play at that game too.

 

“I’ve found Sherlock.” There was a deafening silence. He was at a loss for words and it worried John. Mycroft cleared his throat before continuing.

 

“I’m sending a car now. I’ll have someone there in under 20 minutes.” He said, seemingly completely composed again. John didn’t even think twice at how he knew where he was.

 

“Right, right.”John said, still struggling to come to terms with the whole situation.

 

“John” Mycroft said softly, “It will be alright.”.

 

“Yes, right, thanks.” John said and ended the call.

 

He looked down after ending the call and realized he had gotten up and started to pace. ‘Just like Sherlock used too’ he thought. He heard a low groan from across the room.

 

“John,” He said, followed by a cough racking through his body. 

 

“Yes, Sherlock, I’m still here.” He answered, rushing back to his side. 

 

Sherlock coughed again and asked, “How do I know you are the real John?”

 

“The real John?” He muttered to himself, then realized that Sherlock had seen him before, but only as a figment of his imagination. He need to convince Sherlock that he was the real John, the one who would never leave him.

 

“Well, what would only the real John know?” He asked.

 

“No, that won’t work. If you are not the real John, you would be created by my mind, therefore already knowing the answer.”

 

Of course, Sherlock had already tried that before. 

 

“Okay, well, do you remember earlier when I was looking at your shoulder?” Sherlock nodded in agreement. “You could feel my hands on your back, you could feel the pain when I touched you.” 

 

“Mmhmm…” Sherlock said, still looking at John suspiciously.

 

“So, if you touch me now, you will be able to feel me. You can’t imagine that.” John moved closer to him and slowly put his arms out, palms up, for Sherlock to touch. Sherlock eyed his hands warily and slowly put his hands towards John’s. Sherlock left his hands hovering above his for a moment, until he let him drop down. John’s hands tightened around his cold hands. Sherlock lifted his head from his chest and looked into John’s eyes. 

 

“John?” He asked softly.

“Yes, yes! Oh god Sherlock, it’s me, John.” He said grinning. Sherlock stared at him a moment longer then fell into John’s arms. Sherlock wrapped himself around John’s waist and slid his hands up over his shoulders. John responded by latching his arms around Sherlock’s neck. His fingers grazed through his curls at the nape of his neck. Sherlock continued to push his head into John’s shoulder and neck, seeking his warmth. He breathed him in, remembering the smell that was just,  _ John _ . 

 

“John,” Sherlock whispered into his neck.

 

“Yes Sherlock?” John replied, laying his head atop of his dark curls. 

 

“I’ve missed you. I thought-” He said, choking up a bit, “I thought that I would never see you again.” He finished in a whisper.

 

John felt a tear fall onto his shirt and he pulled back slightly from their embrace, to look at Sherlock’s face. The one he missed so much, with his cheekbones and his eyes that were a sea of colours. All of it, it was just  _ Sherlock _ . 

 

He moved his hands from Sherlock’s back and brought them up to Sherlock’s face. He wiped away the tear with the pad of his thumb, his fingers ghosting over his skin. 

 

“I missed you too.”

 

Sherlock embraced John again, this time both had tears escaping their eyes. John moved one of his hands to Sherlock’s lower back and the other gently played with Sherlock’s curls. He began rubbing small circles on his back and felt Sherlock’s tense muscles release. He moved his other hand up higher into Sherlock’s hair, massaging his scalp and running his fingers through his hair. Sherlock’s breathing steadied and their tears ceased. Realizing as long as they had each other, they would be all right. Whether it be here, on the floor in a warehouse, back at 221B or out chasing down a criminal through the streets of London, all they needed were each other. 

 

“John, I promise I will never leave you again, not without a fight.” John hummed in agreement into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock took a deep breath in before continuing, “I am truly sorry John. Could you ever find a way to forgive me?” His eyes were filled with worry, worry that John would leave him, so soon after he had just gotten him back. 

 

“Of course, of course Sherlock, I forgive you.” John said. “And I won’t ever leave you either, alright?”

 

Sherlock nodded into his shoulder. He stayed quiet for a moment before whispering, “Thank you John.” And nuzzled himself back into John’s shoulder. They sat there in each other's embrace, silent. Just being in the other’s presence was enough to calm them both. 

 

The doors suddenly burst open and John’s head shot up. There were two black cars and Mycroft rushed in. It would have been quite a sight if the reasons for it weren’t so serious. Sherlock seemed to shrink into John’s body even more, if that were possible. 

 

“No, no, make it stop John, please,” Sherlock said, with more incoherent words following. John gripped onto him tighter and continued to run his finger through his hair, rubbing his scalp with his fingertips. He whispered calming words to Sherlock, trying to calm him down. 

 

Mycroft finally reached John and Sherlock and bent down next to them. John gently nudged Sherlock head, willing him to look up. His eyes softened when he saw his brother.

 

“Mycroft?” He asked.

 

“Yes, Sherlock, we are here to help you. We will take you to a safe house of mine, then take you home.” Mycroft answered, his voice filled with worry and brotherly love. John had never seen him so vulnerable before.

 

Sherlock’s face flickered with recognition, “Home?”

 

“Yes” John said, “221B Baker Street.” Sherlock’s eyes lit up with delight at the mention of home, their home. The two of them against the world once again. 

 

Mycroft turned to John, “I have the safe house ready. I cannot be there with you now, but I will be checking in as soon as I can. Anthea will be there to help you with whatever you need. If there is any form of….emergency, you have my number.”  Mycroft stood up and ran his hands down his suit. He turned to walk away but stopped, “Thank you John,” and continued on his way. 

 

“Right, let's get you to that safe house,” John said.

 

“Then home?” Sherlock asked innocently.

  
“Of course, then we’ll go home.” He said and smiled. 


	2. Chapter 2

John unwrapped himself from the tangle of Sherlock’s arms and legs. He lifted Sherlock up and carried him wedding style. Sherlock nudged his head into John’s chest.

“I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you John.” He murmured into John’s jumper, not fully conscious of what he was saying. John continued to carry him to the awaiting black car. He gently placed him into the seat, upright. John climbed in after him and closed the door behind him. The driver took that as a signal to go and they started to move.

 

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked sleepily, trying not to fall over in the seat.

 

“The safe house, remember? Mycroft told us about it.”

 

“I knew that.” He retorted.

 

“Of course you did.” John said smiling. He turned to stare out the window, wondering who had hurt Sherlock so badly. He was too busy trying to think to feel something heavy on his shoulder. He looked down to find Sherlock’s curly head rested against him. 

 

‘He is only reverting to a state where he needs constant support and care. very common in post traumatic events. That's all.’ John tried to convince himself as he leaned back into the seat. He slowly moved Sherlock’s head into his lap, and Sherlock made no move to stop him. He ran his fingers through his curls, trying to recreate the soothing effects from earlier. After a few minutes he felts his breathing slow into a steady pattern, and he knew he was asleep.

 

‘How long has it been since he’s slept in a proper bed,’ John worried, ‘Or eaten at all?’ John drifted into a dreamless sleep and awoke when the car pulled to a stop. Sherlock was roused from his sleep when John stretched his back upwards and he sat up quickly. He looked around, his eyes filled with terror.

 

“Hey, Sherlock, it’s alright, calm down.” John said as he grabbed his forearms to force him to look in his eyes. “We’re at Mycroft’s safe house now.” Sherlock realized where he was and calmed down a bit. He attached himself to John and started whispering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive me.” John brought his arms around Sherlock.

 

“Sherlock, it’s fine, it’s all fine. There’s no reason to apologize. Now let’s get you inside and I’ll fix you up.” John pulled off Sherlock and opened the door. John got out of the car and as Sherlock attempted to, he was seized over with a wave of pain and fatigue. John lifted Sherlock out of the car, wedding style again, and carried him up the front steps of the large safe house. There were two guards on either side of the doors and they simultaneously opened, revealing Anthea on the other side. She smiled in greeting at John, but her gaze turned worried when she saw the state of Sherlock. But she composed herself again and greeted him.

 

“Hello John, we have a room set up with everything that you could need.” She turned around and led him through the house. She went down a long corridor and stopped at the last room. She opened the door on the left. The room was large, furnished with a dark oak bureau, nightstand and a table with various medical supplies spread across the surface. There was an I.V. bag and drip set up next to the bed and on the other side of the room, two very familiar looking chairs. It took John a moment to realize that they were their chairs from Baker Street. He looked around the room and saw other various items including Sherlock’s violin and bow on his chair, his microscope, John’s laptop and mug from the army and, of course, the skull. John stopped observing the room when he remembered he had a very ill Sherlock in his arms. He walked over to the bed and laid Sherlock down gently, his body barely making a dent in the covers. 

 

“Anything else you may need Doctor Watson, just call. I will be staying here for the duration of Sherlock’s recovery” Anthea said. John was in the process of cutting off Sherlock’s shirt as to not further damage the existing wounds. He threw the shirt aside.

 

“Yes, alright,” John said distractedly, already preparing the I.V. needle. He turned to Anthea “Thank you.” She nodded once and walked away, closing the door behind her. John turned back to Sherlock and cleaned the skin on his forearm and put the needle in. He attached the drip to it, but not the morphine, which was available. He headed over to the table that had the supplies and grabbed disinfectant and numbing gel. 

 

John started to clean the cuts on Sherlock’s stomach. He didn’t move at all while John was putting on the disinfectant that was sure to burn. John spoke soothing words to Sherlock, mostly just ramblings. He couldn’t have Sherlock fall asleep now, even if it would be more painless. And he couldn’t risk using a sedative because Sherlock’s body already reacted poorly to those, and in this weak state, he might not ever wake up. After John finished cleaning up his stomach, which were just minor cuts and bruises, he took in a deep breath, knowing how bad his back already was. 

 

“Sherlock, I’m going to help move you onto your back so I can fix you up,” John slowly reached his hands under his back and turned him over. When he was settled, John got the disinfectant and started to clean at the large gashes on his back. Near Sherlock’s shoulder blade, the cut he had seen earlier, was worse than he had originally thought. 

 

‘It must have been cut to the bone at one point’ John thought worriedly. John started to dab around the wound with the disinfectant and Sherlock winced, letting out a gasp from the pain. 

 

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m so sorry, just give me a moment and it will go away.” John said, quickly hooking up the morphine to the I.V. and let it drip into the tube. He had tried to withstand using it for long enough. John didn’t want Sherlock to have to rely on the drug, become addicted. But he couldn’t stand seeing his best friend in so much pain either.

 

Sherlock started to regulate his breathing and he relaxed as the drug made its way into his system. John went back to cleaning the cut, and when finished started to apply the numbing gel to it, hoping it would help soothe the pain to come. John leaned up towards Sherlock’s head and smoothed down his curls.

 

“I know this is going to hurt, but I need you to stay strong, please Sherlock, please stay strong for me.” John ran his hand through his hair once more before pulling away. He went back over to the table and grabbed the needle and surgical thread. He walked back over and with quick, precise movements, sewed the wound shut. 

Sherlock  started to groan in pain again. “It’s okay, it’s okay Sherlock. It’s almost over, almost over,” John whispered to him. He stitched up the end of the wound and cut the thread. He put the needle and unused thread down on the table, and reached to grab the antiseptic. He put it on and covered the wound with gauze. John finished up and then went up next to Sherlock’s head and crouched down so they could be face to face.

 

“Do you want to move and lay on your good side?” John asked softly. Sherlock nodded and John gently moved him onto his good side. John turned to go and find in a glass of water and some food for him, knowing that he was dehydrated and clearly hadn’t had a substantial meal in long time. But he was stopped as Sherlock grabbed his wrist. John turned around, surprised, and sat down next to him on the bed. 

 

“Don’t go,” Sherlock said feebly, “Please John, don’t go.” 

 

“N-no of course not,” he stuttered, “I won’t, I won’t leave you Sherlock, I promise.” 

 

John moved his hand from under Sherlock’s grasp and thought he saw a flash of disappointment cross his face, but John shook it off. He got up and pulled over his chair from across the room and brought it right up next to Sherlock. John pressed the back of his hand against Sherlock’s forehead, checking for signs of a fever, remembering earlier when he had seen Sherlock shiver under his touch.

 

“Do you feel too hot? Cold?” Sherlock shook his head no. “Don you want anything to eat then?” John asked. Sherlock hesitated a moment, “Yes,”

 

“What would you like? Something bland would probably be best. How about some toast or plain pasta?” 

 

“Toast,” Sherlock answered and looked down, refusing to meet John’s eyes. Then Sherlock continued, “Could I, could I have some tea as well?”  

 

John looked at him curiously for a second, “Of course you can Sherlock. Let me just go and-” starting to get up to continue his journey from earlier, before being pulled back down by Sherlock again. 

 

“Don’t leave John,” Sherlock said, eyes still averted from his. 

 

“Okay….I’ll just text Anthea and tell her what you want.” He said while sitting down on the bed once again. He reached into his pocket and dug out his mobile. 

 

**Could you bring some toast and tea for Sherlock, if it isn’t too much of a hassle?**

  
  


**Of course. I will send someone straight away John.**

 

John tucked his mobile back in his pocket and faced Sherlock again. 

“Anthea is sending someone with your toast and tea now. After you eat, I want you to try and get some rest.” John said, his hand resting atop of Sherlock’s leg, covered by the duvet. 

 

“Mmm, yes John.” Sherlock said yawning, prove John’s point. 

 

He started to doze off, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. John moved back to his chair, and started to get drowsy as well, until he jumped at a knock on the door. 

 

“Come in,” he said. The door opened to reveal a man who looked like he should be off assassinating someone, part of M16, no doubt Mycroft’s doing, not delivering toast and tea to the consulting detective and his blogger. John stood from his chair, walking over to take the tray from the man, until he heard a shuffle of sheet. He turned around and Sherlock was sitting up in the bed, his breathing on the edge of hyperventilation. John rushed back to the bed, quickly gripping Sherlock’s shoulders. 

 

“Leave!” John yelled to the man, who put down the tray and left, shutting the door behind him.

 

Sherlock was shaking, his eyes looking glazed over, not recognizing John’s face in a state of pure terror.

 

“Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me,” Sherlock cried, then said more softly, “I miss John, I miss you John, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry John.”

 

“Sherlock, I’m right here. It’s okay, I forgive you. It’s okay, I’m here.” John said repeatedly, brushing the curls out of Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock stopped and looked at John, his eyes curious, examining every part of his face. His eyes slowly widened in realization and he threw himself into John’s arms, both now sitting in the middle of the bed. 

 

John embraced him and held him tight against his chest. He ran his hand up Sherlock’s back until he reached his hair, running his fingers through that as well. Sherlock gripped the front of John’s jumper tight, his face pressed against his chest. They sat in each others warmth, not knowing how long, too busy worrying to remember. 

 

“Why do you stay with me?” Sherlock asked quietly into John’s shirt. John pulled his head back slightly and Sherlock looked up, head still resting against his chest.

 

“Sherlock, you’re my best friend, I stay with you because I want to, and I would do anything for you, and you would do the same for me. I came back from the war and you brought me along, an old army doctor with a limp,” Sherlock opened his mouth, preparing to protest, “No, no Sherlock, it’s true and you know it.” He pouted out his lip, making John chuckle, “You brought me adventure and I enjoyed, hell, I loved it. I love all your crazy experiments, chasing criminals through the streets at such ungodly hours, your bloody violin playing at three in the morning, that I can’t seen to fall asleep without since you were gone, I love when-” John cut himself off, seeing Sherlock’s face at the mention of his death. 

 

“John,” Sherlock started to say, “I’m sorry, please, I am so-” 

“No, no,” John said firmly, “Sherlock, I forgive you.”

 

“So…you aren’t mad?”

 

John took a deep breath in, “Sherlock, I’m mad, but I’m not going to do anything stupid because of it. I don’t see the point in doing something like leaving you, just to make a point. I would just hurt you, and hurt me as well, and I don’t ever want to leave you. Or have you leave me again, because I will always,  _ always _ , come back Sherlock. I will never leave you.” 

  
Sherlock silenced for a moment, “Thank you John. I promise I won’t ever leave you again either, John, I won’t leave.” And with that, Sherlock embraced John again, trying to keep the tears he had held for so long from falling.


	3. Chapter 3

 

They remained embraced, time passed by and neither cared. 

 

“I trust you Sherlock, but I do want you to tell me why you….why you left. Not now, but eventually, alright?” John said softly, breaking the silence that surrounded them. 

 

“Alright John.” he said, nodding his head into John’s chest. 

 

“You are my best friend, Sherlock, and I can’t live without you. I can’t consider what I’ve been  doing for the past two years living. Now, how about we eat.” John got up from the bed and grabbed the tray of toast and tea from where the man had left it. He brought it over to the bed a placed it next to Sherlock, who was now sitting up in the bed. John pulled his chair closer to the bed and started to butter some toast. Sherlock tried to adjust his pillows to sit up straighter. John finished buttering the toast and smiled as he handed it to him. 

 

Sherlock eyed the toast, looked to John, then back down at it. He took a large bite, his eyes widened, looking as if it were the best thing he had ever eaten. He finished it quickly and looked to John, silently asking permission for another. 

 

“Sherlock, you can have another piece, you don’t need to ask.” John said softly. Sherlock reached towards the tray and got more toast, eating it plain. After that, he grabbed to more, eating with such enthusiasm, John was disappointed when he didn’t reach for another once the last two were finished. 

 

Sherlock tried to lift the pot the tea was sitting in, but his arm started to strain and he put it down shakily. 

 

“Don’t exert yourself.” John said, taking the pot and pouring a cup for him. 

 

“But it’s only tea!”

 

“No, doctor’s orders.” He smiled as he handed it to Sherlock.

Sherlock took a sip and smiled, “You remember how I take it.” 

 

John stilled and looked at him, “Of course I do. You are the most important person I have ever met. I could never forget anything about you, even if I tried.”

 

Sherlock looked down into his cup, hiding the light blush rising over his cheeks. He raised his head, “Did you try to forget things about me?” He asked quietly. 

 

John turned away guiltily. “I did. I guess I just couldn’t stand being reminded of you every time I saw something familiar. I couldn’t take a cab without being reminded of our trips to NSY. Everytime I saw a  cup of tea, a long coat, something in the paper, anything, it would remind me of you. It hurt seeing you everywhere I went. Ella, my therapist, said that I should try to forget all those little things. Not forget you, but she said I needed to let go. At that point, it was too painful to try to make it through the day anymore, so I tried. I tried to forget all those little things, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t do it.” His eyes were wet at this point, and he brought his sleeve up to wipe them. Not trying to be discreet, Sherlock would know either way. 

 

“John I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would affect you like this. Please, I am so sorry.” Sherlock pleaded.

 

“Sherlock, please, can we not talk about this right now?” John said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. 

 

Sherlock nodded and stared at his tea before taking another sip. He finished off the cup and put it down on the tray, which John grabbed and brought back over to where it had been left. John came back over and saw that Sherlock had slid farther down in the bed, looking half asleep. 

 

“Hey, I’m going to find someone to get me a cot or something, because honestly, I don’t feel like sleeping in a chair all night.” John turned to leave, but was stopped when Sherlock shouted “No!”

 

He sat up in the bed, completely awake now, then grimaced from the cuts on his stomach and back. “No, John, please don’t go,” Sherlock said, regaining control of his voice, “Please.”

 

“Alright. Alright, I won’t go. I’ll just text Anthea to get-”

 

“John, don’t be absurd, you can sleep with me.” 

 

John was silent, stunned by Sherlock’s proposition. He cleared his throat before speaking, “But Sherlock, I might hurt you overnight….”

 

“John”

 

“...Or I might tear your stitches and reopen you cuts…”

“John”

 

“....And there really isn’t enough room for both of us…”

 

“John!”

 

John stopped and looked towards Sherlock, “Please,” he said. John stared at him for a moment. He rolled his eyes and huffed “Fine.” But Sherlock knew he meant it lovingly.‘Wait, lovingly?’

 

“Just let me change first.” John continued. He started to turn away, but paused. “Do you want to change as well?” 

 

“No.” Sherlock said.

 

“Well, you don’t really have a say in the matter because I won’t sleep with you in dirty clothes.”

 

Sherlock glared at him in protest. John grinned and walked over to the dark wood bureau, ‘Worth more than my year salary’ he thought, and opened the top drawer. He found it filled with Sherlock’s clothes: his robes, pyjamas, pants, and socks, that would later need to be indexed. He pulled out the drawer below it and found it was filed with  _ his _ nightwear and pants. He didn’t even think of how they had gotten it. The next had his jeans, trousers and jumpers in it. He grabbed pyjamas for both himself and Sherlock and closed the drawers. 

 

He wandered over to the closet and saw that it had all of Sherlock’s suits, shirts and trousers in it. As he was about to close it, his eyes caught on a very familiar coat and scarf, hanging in the back. He smiled to himself as he closed it, deciding that they would need to explore this house, no, mansion, when Sherlock was feeling better.

 

“I’m going to change in the bathroom, then I’ll help you. Holler if you need anything.” John said.

 

“Mmhm.” Sherlock eye’s followed John as he walked into the bathroom. John closed the door and Sherlock let his head fall back against the pillows. He groaned and ran his hand through is hair. 

 

‘Why am I feeling this? Nervous and anxious. John is my friend. That's all. It was only logical to suggest him sleeping in the bed with me. Well, demand him to sleep with me is probably more accurate. But anyway, it would have been a hassle to have him get an uncomfortable cot. That's all. Right?’ 

 

Sherlock groaned again in confusion. He  _ wanted _ to be near John. He  _ wanted _ to share the bed with him. He had never wanted to be close to someone before, physically or socially. So why now and why John?

 

‘Because John is different.’ He thought to himself. ‘John is always the exception.’

 

But what was this - this feeling? 

 

The bathroom door opened and a soft light shone onto John, highlighting his features. The light made his hair look golden, his face shined with life and his dark blue eyes were lit up, glistening with the smile on his face. His grey shirt fit loosely over his body, that was leaner now from the last time Sherlock remembered, and still strong. John cleared his throat and Sherlock looked away, realizing he was staring, and his face flushed. John glanced nervously down at the floor.

 

‘Embarrassed, nervous?’ Sherlock thought ‘Embarrassment I can understand, but why is he nervous?’

 

“So…do you want to change?” John asked.

 

“Yes, fine.” He answered. 

 

John walked over next ho Sherlock, clothing in hand. He placed them down on the nightstand that was beside the bed. 

 

“Well,” John said, “I thought that you could use a bit of cleaning to, but I didn’t want you to take a shower. I might open the stitches, so I bought a wet flannel and soap to clean you up. Then you can put on clean clothes.”

 

“Yes John, now can we get on with it.” He said, sounding annoyed to anyone else, but John could see right past his cold features. Sherlock remained stone faced for a few moments, until he couldn’t contain a heartfelt smile from showing any longer. John began to chuckle and Sherlock joined in. Both of them reminiscing of simpler times.

 

“Alright, alright, come on.” John said. He bent down and slid one arm under Sherlock’s back, careful to avoid the stitches, and lifted him into a sitting position. Sherlock winced as John pressed the warm flannel to his back and started to clean off the dirt and blood using the bar of soap. John continued to wash him the best he could without injuring him. He moved onto Sherlock’s front and the two both avoided eye contact, trying to make the situation as normal as possible. 

 

John finished with his chest and put the flannel down. He grabbed the shirt off the nightstand and slowly pulled it on over Sherlock’s head. His fingers brushed lightly across his chest and Sherlock breathed in a gasp. 

 

“Did that hurt?” John said, moving his hands back.

 

“Oh, yes.” He lied, knowing  _ exactly  _ why he really gasped. 

 

“Sorry, I’ll avoid touching there again.” John said, continuing to pull the shirt down over Sherlock’s torso, being extremely careful not to touch Sherlock again, in fear of hurting him. John paused when he finished with his shirt and looked down to Sherlock’s lower half. He took in a breath, and started to tug down Sherlock’s trousers. He stopped and looked up to Sherlock, whose head was turned to keep John from seeing his extremely blushed face. 

 

“Um, Sherlock?”

 

“Yes” He whispered, the only sure way to make sure his voice to give anything away.

 

“Do you...do you have pants on underneath? If you don’t it’s fine, just wanted to be...prepared.” He stuttered out, and like Sherlock, turned his head to hide the blush in his cheeks.

 

“Yes. Yes, I do. Please...continue.” He said, gesturing his hands. 

 

“Right, of course. Sorry.” John continued to pull down his trousers and eventually moved them off to the side. He grabbed a second, clean cloth and began to wash down his legs. He skillfully averted his eyes from Sherlock’s crotch, even while washing up his thighs. Sherlock struggled to keep his breathing in check, under John’s gentle hands. His breath hitched when John moved up the inside of his thigh. He had never been touched there, or really ever been touched this much at all. Before now. Before  _ John _ . And the strangest thing was he wanted John to touch him, everywhere. He felt himself getting aroused and needed to stop it before it became visible.

 

‘He is doing this in a professional manner. He’s a doctor. I should be handling this professionally too. It’s just transport….just transport….just….transport.’ Sherlock thought as he gained control over his body once again. But with one win, comes one loss, as he felt himself drifting off, giving into exhaustion. He didn’t feel John putting on his clean pyjamas, only noticing when John gently lifted him up out of the bed.

 

“What are you doing John?” He asked, sleep heavy in his voice. 

 

“We’re going to wash your hair.” 

 

Sherlock shrugged into John’s chest, not caring at this point. He needed John’s warmth. The smell of his shirts, his strong arms and the fact that he  _ cared _ about him. Sherlock  _ needed _ John. John carried him through the doorway into the bathroom, careful to avoid hitting his head against the walls. He smiled when Sherlock tightened his grip on his shirt as he tried to set him down. John tried again, Sherlock’s  grip only tightened. 

 

“Sherlock…” He said knowingly. Sherlock groaned and grudgingly let go and sat down against the edge of the cold tub. John grabbed a towel and put it over Sherlock’s back and neck. John turned the shower on warm and let it run a moment to let it heat up. He reached his hand under the stream of water, making sure it was warm. He grabbed the removable shower head and gently pushed Sherlock’s head back over the edge of the bath with his free hand. He brought down the shower head and started to wet Sherlock’s hair. John ran his fingers through his curls, and Sherlock leaned his head into John’s touch. John thoroughly wet his hair, he grabbed the shampoo. He lathered it into Sherlock’s dark curls, gently massaging his scalp. Sherlock practically purred beneath John’s hands, making no effort to stop. 

 

John continued to wash his hair, then rinsed it out, carefully not to get any in his eyes. John grabbed the condition and massaged Sherlock’s scalp again. 

 

“Mm, feels nice John.” Sherlock mumbled unknowingly.

 

“That’s good Sherlock.” John said, rinsing out the conditioner. He put the shower head back up and slowly rubbed the towel over Sherlock’s head to dry the excess water. John lifted Sherlock, who was almost asleep, back into his arms and headed over to the bed. He placed down Sherlock into his chair and stripped the bed of the dirty sheets. John made the bed with clean sheets he had found earlier with military precision. 

 

John went back over to Sherlock, who was slightly more awake now, and laid him down into the bed. He pulled up the duvet and made sure he was comfortable. 

 

“Goodnight Sherlock.” John said, sitting down in his chair.

 

Sherlock murmured something along the lines of “G’night John.” and started to drift deeper into sleep. Just as he was about to doze off, he shot up, ignoring the pain and looked over at John. 

 

“Sherlock, is something wrong?” John asked, concern crossing over his face. 

 

“Why are you in the chair?” John’s face changed from concern to guilt. 

 

“I-well-I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Sherlock silenced and chose his words carefully. 

 

“John, I would feel much...better if you were to…” Sherlock quieted and gestured at the bed, “But I don’t want to force anything that would make you uncomfortable.” Sherlock angled his face away to hide his blushing face. 

 

“Oh” John said,”I thought you had only offered because it was practical. I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, it would be nice for me too.”

 

‘Did I just say that aloud? Shit!’ He thought. 

 

“Really?” Sherlock asked, looking surprised, “Good. I just, I haven’t slept in a while and I would, I would be comforted by you. Your presence.”

 

John smiled and walked to the other side of the bed and climbed in, facing away from Sherlock. Both were silent for a minute, until John rolled over. 

 

“I’ve missed you Sherlock, I really have missed you.” John said softly. Sherlock rolled from his back onto his side to face John. 

 

“I missed you too. I always thought of coming home to Baker Street, coming home to you, while I was….away.” Sherlock said. He felt something under his hand, realizing that he had grabbed  _ John’s _ hand while talking. He went to pull it away, but he felt John turn his hand and lace their fingers together. Sherlock felt a surge of warmth spread throughout his body. 

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Yes, John.”

 

“I-I want you to tell me about why you had to leave.” He said, then quickly added, “Not now, but I want to know why. Because I thought-I thought for two years that you jumped because you wanted to end your life. And I thought that maybe, you didn’t enjoy living with me and solving crimes as much as I did.” John felt his eyes start to water and tried to calm down. 

 

“No,” Sherlock said, gripping John’s hand tighter, “You were  _ the best _ thing to ever happen to me. The time we lived together was the only thing that made my life worth living John. You were the only thing that made life worth living. I thought of the time we spent together everyday I was gone. I’m sorry John. I am so sorry.” Sherlock lowered his head to avoid John’s eyes.

 

“Sherlock...Sherlock, look at me please.” John said. Sherlock raised his head and met John’s eyes, who were now tear filled, just as his were. “We both suffered without each other. But I forgive you, and you need to forgive yourself, because why ever you left, you did for a reason. And it is all okay now. So let’s stop crying, okay?” John raised his hand and wiped a tear from Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock leaned into the fleeting touch. 

 

“Alright,” Sherlock whispered, “Goodnight John.”

 

“Goodnight Sherlock. I’m glad you’re back.” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand once more before letting go, and turning over for a night of sleep. The first night of sleep where he was happy, because his miracle had been answered.

 

“And I heard you.” Sherlock whispered. 


	4. Chapter 4

John awoke in the night, panicking for a moment forgetting where he was, but calmed down when he remembered. He rolled over onto his back and turned his head to face Sherlock. He was fast asleep, and looked years younger. The cold mask that he hid behind was gone, revealing an innocent face, his hard features softened. Sherlock was _beautiful_. John didn’t care anymore, Sherlock was beautiful and John wanted him. His dark curls contrasting against his pale skin. John pushed a stray curl back off Sherlock’s face.

 

A thought came to John, ‘This could be my only opportunity to tell him.’ The thought shocked him, but, it was true. If he didn’t do this now, he would have to live the rest of his life without _ever_ telling him.

 

John leaned in a pressed his lips gently to Sherlock’s forehead. He brought his hand up and placed it on Sherlock’s cheek. He lingered there for moment longer before pulling away, only to place a kiss on top of his head. John let his face rest in his curls, taking in all of it, trying to remember every last detail, so not to forget the best moment of his life. He smelled like 221B, if that was even possible, he _had_ been gone for two years.

 

‘Maybe 221B smelled like _him_ , not the other way around.’ He thought, smiling to himself.

 

John let out a soft sigh and breathed in his hair, whispering, “I think I love you Sherlock Holmes.” Kissing his head one more time before pulling back, going back to sleep with a smile on his face.

 

\----------

 

Sherlock awoke from a nightmare with a gasp. He glanced over to the other side of the bed and saw John. His heavy breathing slowed at the sight of him.

 

‘I’m not there any more, I’m with John. I’ll be okay as long as John is with me.’ Sherlock thought. He smiled ‘Just the two of us against the world.’

 

Sherlock looked over towards John again. He looked younger. The years of war that had hardened him had disappeared. His eyes drifted down to his lips, the ones he had wanted to kiss for ages.

 

‘And I won’t ever be able to do that.’ He thought, sorrow and dread filling him.

 

‘I _could_ kiss him, I could kiss him right now.’ Sherlock considered it for a moment. ‘But what if he wakes up. What if he pushes me away and leaves me, for good. No, no I won’t, I _can’t_ do it.’

 

Sherlock looked at him a moment longer, then brought his hand up to John’s face. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek, then another on his forehead. John began to wake so Sherlock pulled back, but left his hand. He started to stroke his hair, trying to soothe John back to sleep. After a few moments, John’s breathing steadied, and Sherlock continued to run his hand through his short hair.

 

“John Watson, I think I’ve loved you since the day I died.” Sherlock whispered. He pulled his hand away from his hair and for the first time in the years spent away, slept without a nightmare, and dreamed of John.

 

\----------

 

John woke first the next morning, and found that he and Sherlock were lying closer than how they had fallen asleep, a _lot_ closer. They were pressed together from shoulder to toe, John on his back and Sherlock on his side who was almost completely draped over him. John went to move his hand and found his fingers locked with Sherlock’s. His eyes widened as he remembered what he had done last night. He debated between keeping his hand trapped in Sherlock’s strong one, or letting go and untangling himself from him, getting out of bed.

 

‘It can’t hurt to hold on a minute longer, right?’ John closed his eyes and drifted into a state between consciousness and sleep. He laid there in his happy dreamland, where it was just him and Sherlock, hand in hand. He wanted to stay in that moment forever. But his peace was disturbed and he opened his eyes quickly, feeling Sherlock starting to wake. John quickly glanced at Sherlock’s face, relieved to find him still asleep, but would be waking soon.

 

John slowly pulled his hand out of Sherlock’s, and carefully moved the covers, while moving out from under him. He eventually made it out of the bed, and pulled the covers up over Sherlock again. The moment his feet touched the cold floor, he regretted getting out of the bed. Getting out of the bed with _Sherlock_ in it, the man who never sleeps.

 

‘Why on _earth_ did I get out of bed?’ John asked himself, wondering how he could be so stupid sometimes. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a jumper, one that Sherlock had given him for Christmas, and headed off into the bathroom.

 

When John emerged, he found Sherlock sitting up in the bed, looking around with sleepy eyes, seeming somewhat dazed. He continued to look around the room until his eyes found John, standing in the doorway, now dressed.

 

“Good morning Sherlock.”

 

“‘Morning John.” Sherlock responded as John walked over to the bed.

 

The morning sun was hitting Sherlock’s hair from behind, highlighting his dark curls. He was _breathtaking_.

 

“Did you say something John?” Sherlock asked, head tilting to the side.

 

‘Oh god. Did I say that _aloud_?’

 

“What, no, I didn’t say anything.” John answered, trying to be convincing. Sherlock looked at him skeptically, but if he had noticed, he hadn’t said anything. He made an attempt to throw off the covers, but stopped the movement and took in a sharp breath.

 

“Do you want something for that?”

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

“Alright.” John said patting Sherlock’s leg that was still under the duvet, and went over to get the pain medication. He came back a few moments later with three pills and a glass of water in hand.

 

“Let me know if the pain doesn’t stop in the next 30 minutes and I’ll get something else.” Sherlock nodded and down the pills in one go. He looked down into his lap and mumbled something.

 

“Sorry, Sherlock, speak up.”

 

He cleared his throat before responding, “I asked if I could have something to eat.” He said looking up to John, who was still slightly shocked that he had been asking for food. John knew that Sherlock had terrible things done to him and probably hadn’t eaten a full meal in a long time. But the last time they were living together, he would still throw fits, refusing to eat for days on end. This would take some getting used to.

 

“Of course, Sherlock. Do you want me to go and get you somethi-”

 

Sherlock cut him off with a loud “No!....No, I’ll come with you.”

 

John tilted his head to the side “Are you sure you're strong enough? Sherlock nodded.

 

John sighed, but agreed, “Alright, but you must tell me if you get dizzy or nauseous immediately.” He said sternly. Sherlock smiled at him, the one he saves for him His John smile, the one no one else gets. John instantly forgot his annoyance.

 

John moved over to Sherlock and help him stand up. He leaned almost all of his weight on John, who had his arm around his back and under his arm. Sherlock took a tentative step forward, using John for support, and they made it step-by-step over to Sherlock’s beloved chair. He lowered himself down onto it, winded from the short walk.

 

Sherlock huffed, mad at his own body for betraying him.

 

“Sherlock, you are doing great. You're proving at much faster than I expected.”

 

“You thought it would take me longer to recover?” Sherlock snapped. John bit his tongue, knowing that he must be feeling better to be acting rude.

 

“Sherlock that's not what I meant and you know it.” John said, extremely calm considering the circumstances. Sherlock huffed and turned away, knowing John was right.

 

‘God, I had forgotten how annoying he could be…But I wouldn't change him of the world.’ John was taken out of his thoughts by Sherlock.

 

“What's that.” he asked pointing over to the corner of the room.

 

‘How the _hell_ did Mycroft find that?’ John thought, annoyed at the older Holmes.

 

“That? That's nothing.” John said, trying to brush it off. It didn’t work.

 

“Tell me.” Sherlock persisted. John shook his head, crossing his arms, ignoring Sherlock and hoping he would back off.

 

“John.”

 

“Sherlock it's stupid. Let it go.”

 

Sherlock continued to interrogate, “No tell me.”

 

“Fine!” John said and threw his arms up in defeat. He went over to the corner where the object was and picked it up by the handle. He walked back over to Sherlock and put it down, forcefully at his feet.

 

Sherlock looked at it and started to deduce. ‘Hard, black hard exterior. Nice, but definitely not new. Very little wear, secondhand probably, instrument of some sort, brass most likely. Maybe it’s a- oh.’

 

“How long have you been playing?” he asked, leaning forward, unlatching the case. He lifted the top  up to reveal a silver horn.

 

“Two months after you left.” Jon said flatly. Sherlock gently lifted the horn out of the case and raised it onto his lap, examining it.

 

“Why?” John sighed and sat down in his chair, his arms resting on his thighs, and his head hung between.

 

“Because Sherlock, I was lost. I didn't want to live a life without you.” He took in a breath. “When I visited Ella, my therapist, if your remember-”

 

“Of course I remember.” Sherlock said quietly, no malice to be found. John showed a sad smile.

 

“She said that I need to do something, anything. I just - I just thought, well, because I saw how much you loved your violin and I missed your playing, I thought an instrument would be good. So I walked into a music store one day, and walked out with this.” He said gesturing at the horn.

 

“Any particular reason why you chose a horn?”

 

“I used to play when I was a kid, before I played clarinet.”

 

“Oh.” Sherlock’s responded, pausing  for a moment, “Any good?”

John looked up, smiling, “Very good.” And the two were silent, before they both burst out in laughter. A deep rumble from Sherlock, and a higher pitched one from John, blending together perfectly. They eventually calmed down, still feeling slightly euphoric from the relief coming out of both of them. The sat for a moment.

 

“Will you play for me, John?”

 

“I've never played for anyone before. I taught myself. I don’t think-”

 

“John, I played my violin with you at home. Constantly.”

 

“Yes, but you're amazing. Extraordinary! You could be a professional.” John said, trying to put up a good fight, and losing.

 

“I'll play with you then.” Sherlock said.

 

John silenced. “What?”

 

“I _said_ , I’ll play with you.” Sherlock repeated, sounding slightly exasperated.

 

“But are you aren't well enough yet. The shoulder you play on is injured.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “God John, stop making petty excuses. I’ll play when I'm better, obviously.” Sherlock then added, more caring, “ We will play together then.” And looked down at his feet, looking slightly bashful.

 

‘Why am I feeling like this? I doesn’t make _sense_!’ Sherlock thought, angry and confused at his mind, or body, or heart. Or all three combined.

 

John looked at Sherlock, his heart swelling. “Yes. We’ll play together then.” He smiled, imaging it.

 

‘Together.’


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock and John sat in their chairs, a comfortable silence encasing them. 

 

“You really couldn’t sleep without my playing?” John looked up, and Sherlock saw sadness in his eyes. 

 

John looked down, embarrassed, “Yeah....I know sometimes I would tell you to stop playing because it was too early, but I always loved it. And when I couldn’t have it, I needed it the most.”

 

“Oh,” Sherlock said softly, “I didn’t know.” 

 

The two both turned their gazes away from each other, replaying the conversation. John finally looked up and cleared his throat. 

 

“Well! Do you want to go and get something to eat now?”

 

“Yes, let’s.” He replied, a soft smile playing on his lips. He tried to push himself up by the arms of the chair, but faltered. John quickly went over helping him up, putting his arm around Sherlock for support. 

 

The two began to walk forward, Sherlock gaining confidence as they went. They reached the door and John opened it with his free hand. They went out, pulling the door shut behind them. John looked around confused in the maze of halls. 

 

“Do you have  _ any _ idea where to go?” John asked, moving them to a cushioned bench. 

 

Sherlock sat down, and breathed out, “No, I don’t believe I do…..up for a little adventure?” He asked smiling. 

 

“The game is on!” John answered coyly. Sherlock turned to him in surprise.

 

“What? No! You can’t do that!” He exclaimed.

 

“Do what?” John smirked.

 

“You know! ‘The game is on!’ That’s what I say!”

 

“Well, last time that  _ I _ checked, you can’t  _ own _ words. I can say it whenever I want.” Sherlock huffed and turned away. “Don’t be like that you prat.” John paused a moment and let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, go on. Say it.”

 

“No.”

 

“What? What do you mean ‘no.’”

 

“I  _ mean _ no. It's not the same.” He muttered. 

 

“Sherlock, you’re acting like a child!” Sherlock continued to face away from John, until he finally rolled his eyes and faced forward again. 

 

“The game is on.” He mumbled.

 

“Better now?” 

 

“I’m fine.” Sherlock snapped back.

 

John put his arm under Sherlock’s again. “Alright, up you go, you big baby.”

 

“I am not a  _ ‘baby _ .’” He said, exaggerating the word. 

 

“Well, with all your whining, you sure sound like a baby to me.” John bantered back. Sherlock shut his mouth at that and let himself be led by John. They continued until they reached an intersection. 

 

“Left or right?” John asked, peering down both halls.

 

“Right.” Sherlock decided. They turned and made their way down the hall. After walking for a good while, they came upon a wall on the left, made entirely of glass. The view was overlooking an expanse of green moorland, with a forest surrounding it and the house as far as the eye could see. Sunlight shone in through the panes, casting a soft glow across the floor. 

 

As John looked out, he became quite curious as to where they were. He hadn’t taken any notice of his surroundings in the car ride here or when bringing in Sherlock. He tried to move forward, because he really was hungry, but Sherlock wouldn’t budge. 

 

“Sherlock, we need-” John stopped mid way through his sentence. Sherlock was still staring awestruck out the window. John knew that Sherlock had never been one to appreciate nature. 

 

‘So why now?’ He thought, and then it hit him. 

 

“Sherlock….how long has it been since you’ve been outside? Or seen trees and grass?” He hesitantly asked, all while unconsciously rubbing at the small of Sherlock’s back. 

 

Sherlock turned to face John, “Too long.” He whispered. 

 

John felt a wave or sorrow and guilt crashed throughout his body. He still had no idea as to what had happened to Sherlock, and why he had to think Sherlock was dead. 

 

‘Why couldn’t he have told me, or brought me wherever he went? I should have been there to protect him, I should have known-’

 

“John, you’re thinking too loudly.” Sherlock complained, taking John from his thoughts.

 

“How  _ do _ you do that?” He asked with a smile.

 

"You get this…” He gestured towards his face, “.... _ look _ .”

 

“And this  _ look _ bothers you?” 

 

“Yes.” He replied.

 

“Alright, alright,” He laughed, “I’ll try to think less loud.”

 

They continued their walk again, taking lefts and rights as they went. Just walking alongside each other, happy to just be together again. They walked a long distance, only stopping a few times when Sherlock got a little tired. They came to another wall of glass, this one with a door in the middle of it. Outside was a huge in ground pool, steam coming off the top. 

 

“That's a pool, a heated pool! I haven’t been swimming since secondary school!” John said excitedly. He turned towards Sherlock. “Do you know how to swim? Or have you deleted it?” He teased. 

 

“Yes, I can swim. And I quite enjoy it too.” He answered, very matter-of-factly.

 

“Well then, we will have to be going swimming, when you’re better of course.”

 

“Actually, swimming will help heal the wounds, as long as I don’t tear the stitches or sutures. It's a saltwater pool, about 3,000 to 4,000 ppm. Enough to help my cuts, but not too much to make it feel like swimming in the ocean.”

 

“Amazing.” John breathed out. “Well, we will just have to get Mycroft to send some swim trunks or something to wear.”

 

“ _ Please _ , don’t  _ ever _ mention my brother and swimming in the same context again.” He said, disgust clearly shown on his face. John stifled a laugh as they came to another intersection and took a right. 

 

“Wait, Sherlock, we’ve been here before. I'm sure of it.” John said stopping and looking around.

 

“Yes, I know.” Sherlock responded, trying to move forward, but trapped by John’s arm. 

 

“What do you mean ‘I know'?” 

 

“We  _ are _ going to the kitchen, correct?”

 

‘Yes but-”

 

“It's this way.” He said pulling forward again.

 

“We’ve been wandering around this place for over an hour! I thought you didn’t know where to go.” 

 

“I didn’t….when you asked.” 

 

“Then when  _ did _ you know.” John asked, letting Sherlock walk forward, leading them. 

 

“Since the first turn we took.” He said in a blasé tone.

 

“You’ve know  _ all this time _ and didn’t think to _maybe_ lead us in the right direction?”

 

“Nope.” Sherlock said, popping the ‘p’. 

 

John glared at him a moment, then his eyes widened as he realized something. 

 

“Oh, I see.” He said, grinning smugly.

 

“What? What do you know?” He asked, his eyes flashing with panic. 

 

‘He can’t  _ possibly  _ know. He was asleep, I’m sure of it.’ Sherlock thought worriedly. 

 

“ _ You _ wanted to prove that you are getting better faster than what I had thought, with your whole ‘My body is transport’ thing. Showing me how long you could walk around without getting tired.” John said smiling, proud that he had worked it out.

 

‘John doesn’t know, calm down. Well he knows  _ that _ , but not The Problem. Act  _ normal.’ _

 

“And?” He huffed.

 

“And what?”

 

“Did it work? Do you believe I am getting better at a higher than normal rate?” He asked, steering John to the left.

 

John smiled and rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes it worked. I believe you.”

 

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “Good.” He nodded, taking one more left and they walked into the kitchen. It was large and open, the most modern part of house, or more the manor. It had a beautiful blue backsplash and pale grey walls. It was equipped with shiney new appliances and had dark wood floors that matched the rest of the house. 

 

"This looks like something out of those magazines Mrs. Hudson reads." John said, taking in the full view of the kitchen. Sherlock hummed in agreement as John walked him over to a chair at the counter.

 

“Alright, what do you want to eat?” He said placing his hands down onto the counter. 

 

“Surprise me.”

 

John smiled and turned away to check the fridge. He looked through, keeping a few ideas in mind, then closed the fridge. He walked over to the pantry and opened it, combing through and then found what he wanted. Easy and quick to make, and the biggest plus was he knew Sherlock liked it; oatmeal. 

 

“How does oatmeal sound?”John called over his shoulder as he dug it out, along with brown sugar. Sherlock liked things sweet. His tea, coffee, anything that could be sweet, was. 

 

“Good.” Sherlock responded, trying to avert his gaze from staring at John’s arse. 

 

‘Stop, stop, stop! I  _ cannot  _ do that! I shouldn’t feel like that, I  _ can’t _ , feel like that. It is not possible. What would John think if he knew I was doing that?’

 

While Sherlock had his internal conflict, John had already set about getting what was needed. 

 

“Hello.” John stood up from the cabinets where he was looking for a pot, to see Anthea walk in. 

 

“Hi.” John answered, then proceeded to look for the pot. He no longer felt intimidated or attracted to her after being kidnapped by Mycroft numerous times. 

 

“I assume you are here to talk to me.” Sherlock said, sounding displeased. 

 

“Preferably.”

 

“Well tell my  _ brother _ that I am not ready to recall the experiences I encountered while gone for two years.”

 

Anthea nodded once and took out her mobile, quickly typing away to Mycroft what Sherlock had said. She turned to walk away, but paused and said, “Try the bottom drawer to your left.” Then turned on her heel and went the way she came.

 

John opened the drawer and sure enough, there was a pot. John started to make enough oatmeal for the two of them, but his mind was elsewhere. Wondering about what happened to Sherlock once again, and how Mycroft was involved with it all, and why hadn’t he found Sherlock sooner and why couldn’t John know and why-.

 

“John, you’re doing it again.”

 

John turned around to face him. 

 

“Go ahead, ask.”

 

John turned back to the stove top, not able to face Sherlock, or have him see the tears threatening to fall. 

 

“Why, did you do it?” He asked, voice shaking and almost stuttering. 

 

“You were going to die. Next question.” John spun to face him, getting frustrated. He had to years of emotions and mourning ready to spill out.

 

“You can’t just say, ‘You were going to die’ and move on like nothing happened, Sherlock! I thought you were dead....I thought you were  _ dead _ for  _ two years _ . Do you know what that did to me?” John took in a shaky breath, “I didn’t want to live a life that didn’t have you in it. How could you do that? Why did you leave?” His anger was gone, and just the sadness and remembrance of loss could be seen now. 

 

Sherlock looked down, “I had to die, so you could live. Along with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. Moriarty wanted to burn the heart out of me. And….and you are my heart. So, to hurt me, they would hurt you, kill you.” He took in a breath. “So he had three snipers trained on all of you. Three IOUs. When I was up on Saint Barts’ roof, he said the only way to call them off, was for me to kill myself. I knew that before I went up there. So I made elaborate escape plans, with the help of Mycroft, one for each possible outcome. But when I was up there, I realized that there had to be another way to call the snipers off. So as long as Moriarty was alive, there was still a way to save you. But I didn’t-I didn’t know how invested he was in our... _ game _ .” Sherlock spit out the last word. “He killed himself. He would rather die than lose. So I had no choice but to jump. I needed the snipers to see me dead. I couldn’t let you die.” Sherlock looked up at John, his cheeks stained with tears. He looked down again as he felt his own eyes wet. “And then….you can remember the rest.”

 

John moved over to Sherlock and threw himself into him, wrapping his arms around his neck. Sherlock grunted at sheer force, then wrapped his own arms around John’s torso, bringing him as close as he possibly could. He let his tears fall onto John’s jumper as John brought his hand into his ink black hair. 

 

“I never wanted to leave, John. I never wanted to leave you.” Sherlock whispered to John. 

 

“Don’t leave me again. Please….don’t leave.” He said into Sherlock’s neck.

 

“I won’t, I won’t ever leave.”

 

“So the game is over?” He asked, pulling back to look at his face.

 

Sherlock smiled gravely, “The game is never over.” 


	6. Chapter 6

John sniffed softly and pulled away, composing himself as he sat down in the chair next to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Well, if you have any more questions….please….” His voice faded out as he stumbled over his words.

 

“Oh. Right.” John sat up, straightening his posture, “What did you do when you were gone?” His voice serious, interrogating Sherlock as if he was a client.

 

‘I can see why Sherlock always detaches himself from cases.’ John thought, as he tried to banish the thoughts of guilt and the horrors Sherlock went through to save him.

 

“I was taking out Moriarty’s web, to ensure that there was no one else to carry out his orders if he died. So no one else would be able to come after you….or Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.” He added quickly.

 

“And….did you get all of them?” John asked cautiously, already knowing the answer.

 

“No,” Sherlock stated as he hung his head, “Serbia was the last piece of Moriarty’s web. But my cover was compromised. And that’s how I ended up….the way that you found me.”

 

John tried to banish images of Sherlock being kept in chains, being beaten and tortured, to no avail. 

 

‘The torment he endured that had made him so…..weak. I can’t imagine. Sherlock’s….Sherlock. That just doesn’t happen. He went through that to save me and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. The next person who says Sherlock is a freak who doesn’t care about anybody is going to-’ John removed himself from his train of thought, remembering that he was in the middle of a conversation with Sherlock.

 

“So there’s still people after you? After us?”

 

“Yes.” He nodded once, then turned his head away from John. “I….understand if you would like to discontinue….correlation.....with me. These people John, they’re smart and show no leniency, no mercy. They know how to get to us, our pressure points. They will hurt you if they find us.”

 

“Jesus Sherlock, you really don’t get it do you?” John said, his voice sounding….sad, defeated? Sherlock looked up at John, his head tilted to the side in confusion. “Sherlock, I am never leaving you, no matter what. I just got you back. You answered me, my one wish Sherlock....you came back from the dead. I am not _ever_ letting you go, even when you want me to.” John smiled lightly. “And you know that I need you and your crazy cases.”

 

“Our. Our crazy cases.” Sherlock corrected.

 

“Alright, _our_ crazy cases. I love the adrenaline I get pumping through my veins whenever I’m with you.”

 

“The thrill of the chase.” Sherlock whispered to himself.

 

“I knew what I was getting into when we started this Sherlock. I knew the dangers, the consequences. This is our problem and we are going to fix it.”

 

“Thank you.” Sherlock said as he turned to look at him, seeing the truth on his face and honesty in his eyes.

 

Sherlock began to speak again, “The last place Moran was, was in Serbia with me. But now he knows I was coming after him. He is going to be more careful now. It was almost impossible to find him before. I don’t know how I’m ever going to do it now. It took me months to successfully get off the radar, and more even to get into their ranks and bases. It going to take-”

 

“Sherlock, calm down. It's going to be alright.” John said placing his hand on his shoulder. Sherlock gently leaned into it, craving the warmth and affection from John. “And it won’t take forever. I’m going to be with you, every step of the way. We’ll get Mycroft to help. And we will bring down Moriarty’s web once and for all. Now eat up.” He said pushing a bowl of cooling oatmeal towards him. “We won’t be able to get him on an empty stomach.”

 

Sherlock took the bowl and spoon from him and eagerly began to eat, because John was right. They needed to be ready for whatever the world had to throw their way next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! A bit of a crazy week for me, but the next chapter will be longer! Promise!


End file.
